Last (and first) time I was in Bristol my friend took me out to a place which I believe is referred to over the dinner table as a "meat market", although I always imagined such establishments would offer more cold cuts and less queasy unhappiness to its average punter. At about one I tried to remember everybody else I knew who came from said city, and when you occurred the thought of all the better places you must frequent so depressed me I went home.

That's what you mean to me. Deep existential misery on the south east coast.